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I want to say yes to her. Every instinct in me screams to do it. I’m amazed that she walked in here and had the courage to ask for help in the first place—usually only government officials or police officers come in. Yet she waltzed right in with a box of cookies and a hopeful expression, bravely asking for what she needed.
I doubt River or the others would have seen it that way, and I’m grateful she found me first.
But I can’t help. We’re not the right people to ask, as tempting as it is to drop everything for her and take care of her.
For all I know, she has a mate. This shouldn’t be personal for me.
Skylar’s been in the room for less than five minutes, and suddenly, nothing but her matters.
I need to get a grip.
This is not how I expected my day to go.
And now, River has entered the conversation, ruining any semblance of peace that I might have had walking her out.
“Who are you?” he demands to Skylar, ruder and louder than necessary as he slams his pile of papers down on my desk.
I fight the urge to scowl at him—he’s never friendly, but he doesn’t need to be a dick to her for no reason.
And before she can answer, his eyes dart to the large white box where every color of macaron is displayed proudly. “And what the hell is this?”
“Those are macarons, River,” I say pointedly, narrowing my eyes at him. “And this is Skylar Bloom. I was just walking her out.”
Skylar darts her eyes between me and my colleague, and her pupils dilate.
She’s attracted to us.
But it doesn’t matter. I need to get her out of here before River says something stupid.
“I’m looking for my best friend,” she says to River, fixing her blue eyes on him. Beautiful. “And I was trying to see if you could help me.”
There’s a moment of silence that stretches a bit too long.
River is a loose cannon; he could snarl one sentence that would send her running or flash a smile and charm her.
He’s an excellent manipulator, which makes him an incredible detective.
And if her scent is affecting him at all like it affects me, I’m hoping he doesn’t show his fangs.
“We don’t do random missing person cases,” he says simply, crossing his arms over his chest and raising an eyebrow. “And we don’t take cookies as bribes.”
Great.
I can feel a headache forming already. River’s been in a fouler mood than usual this week, and no amount of pretty blue eyes or delicious-smelling Omegas will change that.
And, knowing him, he would see the conspicuous white box on my desk as an insult.
“River, it’s fine. She didn’t know—”
“They’re not bribes,” Skylar says, crossing her arms over her chest as well, matching River’s stance. Her scent spikes with cinnamon, a rich, deep fragrance, and her fury and indignation are just as mouthwatering as I imagined. “They’re an act of goodwill, and I was only hoping—”
“Yeah, well, we don’t have time for that,” River snaps, looking down at her. With his unkempt appearance and wrinkled leather jacket, he looks just as unprofessional as he sounds while speaking to her. “We do real work here. We see stuff every day that would make you sick. So, coming to us with cookies like a child is pointless and a waste of our time.”
“River!” I snap at him, snarling. “Can you act professional for one second? She was simply asking—”
But Skylar’s already shaking her head and chuckling to herself. “Right,” she says, biting her lip and looking away. “Sorry for wasting your time. Asshole,” she mutters under her breath. Her face is flushed, and her eyes are glassy as she quickly pushes past River and me, avoiding looking at either of us.
“What the fuck?” River says as we hear the main door close. “People just walk in now and ask for charity?”
